


Eyes of the Beholder

by LotusFlair



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Based on D&D classes from the Season 4 Q&A, Dungeons & Dragons References, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Dungeons & Dragons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: The temple of Ioun is open to all for the purposes of research and study. Under the watchful gaze of the Knowing Mistress, hundreds have devoted their time and wisdom to enrich the collective knowledge of the world.The Magnari Annex is a bit more niche in its acquisitions. If there's a story to be told of the unknown and the power behind it, then you're invited to enter and make your statement. What happens afterward is anybody's guess, but there are whispers of dark magic on the horizon and its newest scribe only dreams of eyes.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Eyes of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the idea in my head since the Season 4 public Q&A. I thought it would maybe be another long-form multi-chapter story, but I don't have the time right now, so I'm basically writing a bunch of scenes that I've been mulling around that create the skeleton of a bigger story. I also wanted to get it written and done before Season 5 started because I'm sure I'll have plenty to work with once the chaos begins anew.
> 
> Oh, also, please don't try to school me on anything D&D related in this story. It's a fantasy AU inspired by the game, but is in no way beholden to it. Thank you, thank you!

There was a drow in the Annex. He'd never seen a drow before and there were no stories among his people that provided an accurate description beyond the nightmarish exaggerations the elders used to keep the young in line. There were whispers passed back and forth in the days before the drow's arrival, but he tried to stay out of range in case it colored his first real interaction with someone of a race he'd never met. It wasn't in his nature to judge, so he kept other peoples' judgement out of his thoughts.

He knew what it was like to be compared to a figment of someone else's imagination. Firbolgs weren't exactly common folk in the bigger towns and cities. Despite living and working in the temple of the Knowing Mistress and the Magnari Annex for the past ten years, he was still considered an oddity by the general population. Most days it didn't bother him, but sometimes there were off days where he felt the weight of loneliness grip his heart. Those were the days he wished to go home before reminding himself of the whys and hows of his current employment. Those were the nights he channeled his poems most effectively. He recovered quickly, but it felt at times like there was a shadow looming over his shoulder, watching and waiting for the next cycle of depression.

The knock on the door of his private quarters pulled him out of his thoughts. Standing on the other side was Heliodore Bochard, the temple's Arch Cleric, and someone he didn't recognize. He was on the short side for an elf, barely six foot compared to a high elf like Heliodore, or Elias as he liked to be called. Then again, everyone was short in comparison to his towering height of almost eight feet. The stranger had deep purple skin, indigo if he was trying for a more descriptive color. He was wearing a loose-fitting tunic, trousers, and a flowing robe dyed with dark blues and greens that shimmered in the candlelight. In his hands he clutched a small, leather bound book to his chest. His ears, adorned with rings and chains of gold and silver, were long and slender like his thin, lithe frame. A pince-nez sat upon his nose and behind them were sharply focused eyes of tarnished gold that appeared both curious and guarded. His hair...his hair looked like pure moonlight and he found it hard not to stare at the wavy locks of silver and ivory hanging past his shoulders. He knew, deep down in his gut, that he was looking at the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

Elias coughed, bringing him back to the present. The uncomfortably silent present.

"So...I'll be handing you off to Martin for the tour of the Annex. He's been here the longest and he'll be able to answer all of your questions about the work you'll be doing under Ioun's watchful gaze," Elias said. "Jonquil Symeon, this is Martinaeus of the Blackwood. Martin, this is Jonquil. He'll be working in the scriptorium with you and Sasha."

"Oh! P-pleasure to - to meet you!" Martin said, sticking his hairy hand out with an overly enthusiastic amount of zeal. Whatever sense of equilibrium Jonquil possessed vanished as Martin waited for him to return the gesture. Nervous eyes darted from Martin's hand to Elias' encouraging grin. Shifting the book into his left hand, he gingerly extended his right. 

There was a jolt of electricity. The poet inside him searched for an emotion to attach meaning, but it wasn't so much a figurative connection as it was a literal spark of electricity that passed between them from Jonquil's long, rounded fingers. They both jumped at the sudden shock.

"That's - uh - that's quite the shocking grasp you've got," Martin laughed as he shook the pins and needles out of his hand. Jonquil looked devastated. He pulled back, the book cradled against his chest like a shield against the world.

"I - I'm so sorry! I didn't - I didn't mean to--" Jonquil started.

"No - no, it's alright," Martin said. He smiled warmly and hoped the drow saw the sincerity in his eyes. "Magic. Unpredictable at the best of times. Never a dull moment, though, right?"

"Yes, I suppose," Jonquil agreed. His voice was soft with acceptance, but his body language was stiff with anxiety and fear.

"Well then, I'll leave you two to get acquainted and I'll see you both at supper. Before I go, Jonquil, here is your holy talisman," Elias said. Reaching into the folds of his cobalt robes, the cleric pulled out what, at first glance, looked like a craggy rock one might find strewn about an active mine or quarry. The edges were indeed rough, but in the center the rock was smoothed out and polished into the approximation of a woman's face. Carved into the face were the typical pair of eyes where one would expect eyes to be with the addition of a third eye carved into the forehead. The talisman was attached to a decorative chain that Elias fastened around Jonquil's neck. "This will allow you access to the main temple and most of the Annex."

"Helps on supply runs, too," Martin added, pulling out his own talisman from beneath his tunic. "Discounts on tea and pastries at the Rusty Raven."

"Ahem, I'll forget I heard that," Elias said. He placed his hand on Jonquil's shoulder and smiled proudly like a father would to his son. "I'm glad you finally arrived and I have absolute faith in you to bring light and life to our temple."

Jonquil looked away, his discomfort obvious under Elias' intense stare. "Th-thank you. I'll - I'll do my best."

"You'll do perfectly," Elias insisted. He squeezed Jonquil's shoulder before letting go. "Enjoy the tour."

Once Elias' footsteps faded into the Annex walls, Martin saw Jonquil's body relax even as he attempted to straighten his posture. He looked up at Martin and offered an apologetic smile. "Again, I didn't mean to - to hurt you."

"No harm done," Martin said. "So, Elias has already shown you the temple. Ready for the not-so -grand tour of the Annex, Jon?"

"I'm sorry, what? Did you call me J-Jon?" the drow asked.

"Oh, sorry, no, I should've asked," Martin said. "I tend to shorten names. Makes it easier to remember. Do you prefer Jonquil?"

He looked confused. "No one's...ever asked me. No one's ever shortened it, either, but...um...yes, Jon will do."

Martin's face brightened, though it was hard to tell through the thick skin and sandy hair. "Excellent! I suppose we'll go to the scriptorium first. Sasha might be there as well, but even if she isn't we'll get you situated with a desk and supplies. How does that sound?"

The anxiety in Jon's face was still there but it was to be expected. He was in a temple of knowledge, a scribe under the eyes of the Knowing Mistress, charged with the daunting task of recording and researching stories from all over the world. He was in a strange place with strange people and Martin knew it would take time for those nerves to hopefully ease off as the unknown became familiar.

After a few seconds of consideration, Jon nodded.

"Lead the way," he said.

***

Sandrina Jaques, or Sasha to pretty much everyone, was in the scriptorium when they arrived. Hunched over her desk, making notes in her spellbook, she barely noticed their arrival until Martin loudly proclaimed their entrance. She jumped at the sudden loud noise and gave Martin quite the stink eye when he started laughing. Then she noticed Jon and her short, pointed ears twitched with curiosity. She stared for far longer than Jon was comfortable with, but Martin knew what was coming. Sasha needed a good, long look in order to get the visage right and, before their eyes, her body morphed into a drow with features similar to Jon's but mixed with some of Sasha's.

"Changeling," Martin said in explanation when Jon looked at him with panicked eyes.

"How'd I do?" Sasha asked as she returned to, what one would assume was her default form of pale grey skin, slate eyes, and blue-grey hair. The neutral coloring was offset by her vibrant robe of red, gold, and purple.

Martin gave a back and forth tilt of his hand. "Still need to get the eyes right."

"It's always the eyes!" she said, turning back to her spellbook with a pouting lip.

"You'll get there," Martin said, encouragingly. "But before you get back to it, can you help me get Jon set up for tomorrow?"

"Sure, sure! What school of magic do you favor, Jon?" Sasha asked.

"Um...I dunno. There are schools of magic?" Jon asked.

Sasha and Martin gave him an odd look before Sasha answered. "Well...yeah, that's how wizards learn magic. Different specialties depending on the type of magic that you've studied most: Transmutation, Divination, Illusion, Conjuration, Evocation, Necromancy, Enchantment, and Abjuration. You've got a spellbook there, so I assume you've gotten some training?"

Jon shook his head. "No-no training. I just...can?"

"Sorcerer then!" Sasha said. "Ooh, we haven't had a sorcerer here in ages, right, Martin?"

"Not since Keaystone," Martin said.

"Weird guy," Sasha said. "Which is saying something considering the menagerie we've accumulated in the Annex!"

"Wording," Martin said in a warning tone. Sasha looked into his cow-like features with apologetic eyes.

"Sorry. Bad habits die hard," she said. Martin nodded his forgiveness.

"I - I thought I was a druid, but..." Jon started. He looked so unsure of himself. Martin had seen plenty of magic users come through the Annex, many of them students from various academies around the realm, but even they had more confidence in themselves than Jon. Perhaps that was why he'd been brought to their institution. A little ego boost never hurt anyone. Mostly.

"Don't worry, Jon," Martin said in what he hoped was a calming voice. "Sorcery isn't illegal. Just rare. Hopefully we can help you get sorted out if you need it."

Jon's mouth curled into a slight smile. He nodded. "Thank you, Martin."

They spent another half an hour getting Jon a good, sturdy desk and a heap of supplies. Martin and Sasha made sure he had plenty of quills, parchment, and ink as writing out the statements of those speaking their stories within the Annex was time-consuming and exhausting on the best of days. Sasha made a great show of how her wrist loudly cracked as she stretched and curled it. Martin noted the enlarged knuckles on his left hand and the permanent dents and callouses in his skin from holding a quill for so many years. Jon took it all in, but none of it seemed to match his earlier fear regarding magic. Martin was intrigued and he hoped there would be time enough to understand Jon better.

Once they had his desk ready, Martin led him through the stacks of scrolls and books collected over the last few centuries. It was an impressive site that stretched far beyond what the building appeared able to hold from the outside. Martin took pride in showing the utility of magic to Jon as they descended into the lower level.

"I helped with the storage extension about seven years ago," Martin said. "Not to brag or anything, but we'd have been filling the empty rooms by now if I hadn't modified one of the higher level spells when I did."

"It's truly impressive work, Martin," Jon said. Martin stopped abruptly. The compliment was sincere, he heard it in Jon's voice, but he'd never been given such kindness without a catch. Jon looked at him curiously, waiting for him to continue down the stairs.

"Uh...thank you," he said.

"You sound surprised," Jon observed.

"Yeah...most beings don't think I'm capable of that kind of magic," Martin said. "Elias certainly didn't when I first suggested the solution."

"Is...is Elias a trustworthy elf?" Jon asked.

Martin shrugged. "He's not the worst of his kind. Believes in what we do here, the purpose of the temple as well, but...no, he's not the worst elf I've met."

"You've met worse elves?"

"Yes, very much so."

Martin started moving down the stairs when he felt Jon's oddly rough hand grasp his arm. He hadn't noticed before, but there were scars all along his left arm. Another bit of intrigue. Another story to uncover.

"You helped with the spellcraft. Are you a wizard as well, Martin?" Jon asked.

Martin chuckled, "No, I'm a - a bard, actually. At least I was training to be a bard. I had to leave school when my clan needed me back in the Blackwood."

"Then how are you here?" Jon asked.

"My clan doesn't need me anymore," he said, solemnly. Jon understood his tone and released his arm. No more questions about that subject. Not now.

It was near the bottom of the stairs that they heard the sounds of metal striking metal and exhausted grunting. Jon tensed instinctively, but Martin gave him a reassuring smile. When they stepped into the light at the base, the origin of those panic-inducing noises were revealed to be a sparring match between an angry-looking human woman and a smug male earth genasi. Both were wielding longswords and shields, but the human looked a bit worse for wear. Blood was leaking from a wound above her left eye and there were various cuts and bruises on her arms and legs. The earth genasi's skin resembled smooth, chiseled marble and Jon could see why the human looked upset. There was barely a mark on her sparring partner. As she moved around him, striking towards his leg, he parried and cut her across her exposed arm. It was then Jon noticed the wolf-like features growing more prominent. Her labored breath became thick and heavy as she foamed at the mouth.

"Daisy!" shouted someone from beyond the sparring pit. Jon was partially blinded by the radiant glow emanating from her and, for the briefest moment, he thought he saw feathered wings spanning the width of the room. He blinked and the light faded, leaving a brown-skinned aasimar with eyes a similar shade to Jon's of tarnished gold. Her head was covered in a blue scarf decorated with symbols he couldn't discern though they were beautifully stitched with gold and silver thread.

"Sorry! My fault!" said the earth genasi. "I goaded her."

"He was only doing what I asked," Daisy replied. She tiredly sank to the floor, happy for the ability to rest. The aasimar rushed over, kneeling by her side. Her hands cupped Daisy's face and they all witnessed a bright light of healing pass from her hands into Daisy's body.

"Shouldn't waste your magic on me, Bassara," Daisy said, though there was a clear smile of thanks spreading across her face.

"It's not a waste if it's helpful," Bassara responded.

Daisy seemed to sense they had an audience. She looked over the earth genasi's shoulder right at Martin's gentle, but nervous face.

"Hi, all!" Martin said, cheerfully. "This is Jonquil, or Jon, actually. He's our new scribe and I'm showing him around. Jon, this is the training area for the temple guards and the Annex wardens...who you're currently looking at. That's Bassara al-Hassan, our resident paladin. That's Alis Tolnner, but we call her Daisy, one of our more roguish agents. And that's Timotei Stokov, Tim for short, one of our best fighters."

The earth genasi, Tim, sauntered over. He was all smiles and sparkling, flirtatious eyes. "I see the drow rumors were true! I haven't been among drow in ages, but thankfully I have your grace and beauty to remind me of such a rich and thriving culture."

"Laying it on thick there, Stokov," Bassara said. Martin covered his eyes with an embarrassed sigh. Jon stared at Tim, unimpressed.

"Look, I've been training for weeks! I'm off my game!" Tim expressed. He turned back to Jon. "I promise you, I'm usually quite charming."

"I'll take your word for it," Jon said.

"Where's Mellony?" Martin asked.

"Where do you think?" Daisy replied.

"Hunting again?" Martin said with some measure of disbelief.

"Yep. And she's alone. Again," Daisy said in a clipped tone. "I'll be having a word or two with her about that one when she gets back."

"I'll get the medical supplies ready," Bassara said. She wasn't exactly stone-faced, but when she looked at Jon he got the sense that she didn't trust easily. He could respect that. Regardless, she offered him a friendly smile. "It's nice to meet you, Jon. Hopefully things won't get too weird for you."

"Why - why would it get weird?" Jon asked.

Bassara shrugged. "Dunno. Sometimes things get weird around here. You know how it is. Small town, enchanted forest, goblin camps to the west, soldiers marching from the south, etc."

"You're all painting a lovely picture for him," Martin sighed. "Come on, Jon. Let's find your quarters. Long day tomorrow."

"Nice meeting you!" Tim shouted as they turned back up the stairs. He looked back at the two women. "I think that went well!"

***

Once he had the routine down, Jon fit in quite well as a scribe for the Magnari Annex. Some days were busier than others, but Jon was always ready to record statements when visitors arrived. He was, at times, a bit impatient with some of the storytellers, but that was mostly due to his desire for closure on a tale. The stutters and false starts were frustrating to a mind that clearly wanted the full picture laid out for him with all of the details adding up to a conclusion one could wrap a bow around. When someone trailed off or finished their statement without a satisfying ending it was hard for Jon to keep his disappointment shielded from the hopeful eyes that looked to him to provide that same closure. He learned quickly how to manage those emotions as they scattered across his face.

What was odd about Jon was his tirelessness during confessionals. He sat at his desk for hours taking statements, but he never complained about aching limbs or joints or even his back despite his hunched posture. Martin and Sasha couldn't remember if he took breaks or ate for most of the day. It was only in the mornings when Jon looked his most ragged. There were dark bruises under his eyes and he staggered as he walked, but once he started taking statements he appeared to perk up and that exhaustion vanished quickly. Martin noted that he was a bit of a flake since he always misplaced the statements. He'd place them in one desk drawer only to find them in another, though the confusion on his face was just as curious. As though he couldn't understand how he could have confused their location.

After a few weeks of watching Jon's routine play out, Martin was determined to take the drow out for lunch and conversation. They'd only spoken in bits an pieces over the last month and Martin often found himself staring at Jon without realizing it. There was something magnetic about him that flustered Martin, but also inspired him. He'd been writing more poems recently without loneliness as his motivation. The sensations that swirled in his mind and warmed his body were unknown to him, but he remembered a member of his clan describing what it felt like to fall in love and Martin was more than certain he was following a similar path.

So, it was with a nervous, pounding heart that he brought Jon with him to the Rusty Raven on a crisp autumn midday. He made sure to provide a parasol for protection from the sun. Drow were susceptible to harm by sunlight. It wasn't deadly, but there was no ignoring the sudden fear in Jon's eyes when Martin suggested walking around the city on such a clear, sunny day. His fear turned to shock and gratitude, however, when Martin pressed the parasol into his hand. It didn't entirely allay Jon's nerves about going into the city proper. Drows weren't exactly heroic figures depicted in stories and song of the realm. Martin, once again, could sympathize, but he made sure that anyone who stared too long at Jon got a stern eye from him. Even if he was something of an oddity as well, the people of Londinium were used to him and passersby gave a satisfied nod at his silent affirmation of trust.

After showing his Annex talisman to the barmaid, they were quickly seated. Drinks and food followed shortly after, but Jon was surprised to receive items he hadn't ordered.

"Oh, it's pretty much chef's choice for meal of the day," Martin said. "The ale is on me, though. Thought you might need something more bracing for the coming winter."

"Um...thank you, Martin," Jon said, shyly. There was a dark blush to his cheeks as he tucked into his rabbit stew. His silvery-white hair was often tied back to keep out of his face while he worked, but a heavy strand fell out of the leather cord. It shimmered in the midday light along with the gold and silver jewelry in his long, elegant ears. Martin felt those swirls of heat and nerves in his stomach as he swallowed his ale with an audible gulp.

"So...how are you adjusting to the Annex?" Martin asked. "You've taken to recording statements so well! I've seen some new scribes quit within hours of starting confessionals."

"It's...I like it. I'm quite surprised how well it suits me," Jon said.

"Why's that?"

"When I was among my family, my clan, I was considered something of an arrogant prick about magic and scholarship. I thought it beneath me, I suppose, to study what came naturally," Jon said. His eyes looked distant, almost haunted. "I was very wrong, it turns out."

Martin reached out, placing a hand on Jon's. He didn't pull away. "Would you tell me? You don't have to, but sometimes I find it easier to talk it out instead of keeping it locked up inside."

Jon hesitated, his free hand rubbing behind his neck nervously. "I - I hurt people. A lot of people. I was careless and my magic...it got out of hand. My people were all too eager to send me away in the aftermath. And then Elias found me and brought me to the Annex. That's - that's all I can remember."

"What do you mean?"

"It's all fuzzy. None of it seems real when I try to think on it too hard or for too long. It's like I'm watching myself from the outside and I don't recognize what's happening," Jon said. His breaths quickened as he rubbed at his neck harder. Sweat gathered at his forehead, dripping down his face. "It's like - like my dreams. I'm there, but I'm also outside of myself. I'm watching, but...there are so many eyes upon me. No one - no one says anything. They just stare at - at me and I can't stop...I can't stop staring...And they keep watching..."

"Hey, hey, Jon! Jon, it's okay," Martin said. He could see him spiraling. He quickly cast a spell to calm his emotions, reciting an old rhyme he'd been taught long, long ago. He gently rubbed the hand that now held him in a vice-like grip. With each pass of his thumb over strained knuckles another pulse of calmness poured in. He felt Jon's grip begin to lessen, but he didn't let go of his hand. "It's alright, Jon. You're okay. You're safe here...with me."

Jon took in a deep gulp of air, relaxing somewhat against the backboard of their booth. "Th-thank you, Martin. I feel much better. I'm sorry about that."

"No worries," Martin said with a humble shrug of his shoulders. "It's part of what I do. Calm people down, give a healing word or two. Maybe even inspire them a little."

"You used a poem to channel your magic," Jon observed. "Was that a one time display or are you a renowned poet in these parts?"

Martin blushed. If he didn't know any better, it sounded like Jon was flirting with him, though he could also be genuinely curious. "I write poetry, yes, but I wouldn't consider myself a p-poet. Not really."

"Why not?"

"Poets - bardic poets - learn how to bend language to their needs and will," Martin said. "I'm lucky if I can get a metaphor to sound right without sounding pretentious."

"There's more than one type of poetry, Martin," Jon said, a teasing lilt in his voice. "If it all adhered to the same form and meter, then most poems would be frightfully dull by this point. How would the minstrels survive?"

Martin smiled. "I've been, um, experimenting, I guess? Playing around in my personal time."

"Would...would you let me read your poetry?" Jon asked. He was looking away, as if he didn't want to see Martin's reaction to his question. He still hadn't let go of his hand. Martin fought the immediate confusion and skepticism. He'd been taunted and mocked one too many times to blindly hand over what was essentially his heart to someone who sought to break him. Looking at Jon, though, he could see the fear of rejection. There was a need for connection that they both shared and he was taking the first - and the biggest - step towards creating such a bond.

Martin squeezed his hand, causing Jon to meet his gaze. "I'd be very glad and honored for you to read my poems, Jon."

That night, Martin began another poem. This one he titled, 'Moonlight.'

***

The fire genasi known as Judicael Perrine stood poised to burn the Annex down as she and her fellow acolytes of the Cult of the Lightless Flame zeroed in on the scrolls and books stacked and sorted not far from the scriptorium. They'd surrounded the building with stunning efficiency, removing most of the temple guards before infiltrating the inner sanctums and rushing through to the Annex swiftly. But they weren't alone. They'd brought the Church of the Divine Host, a cult that worshiped eternal darkness, and it was through the inky black of magical void that they'd managed to get the drop on most of the inhabitants. The only barrier between them and their quarry were Martin, Sasha, and Jon.

"Stand aside or be burned to a crisp, Eye worshipers!" Judicael declared. To emphasize the point, her fist sparked with flame. Martin threw his arms wide, casting a shield that covered them as Judicael threw a burst of flame. The shield barely absorbed it and Jon could see some of her power harming Martin as the magic dropped. Sasha took the opportunity to summon a wall of water that nearly flooded the scriptorium. Half of the Lightless Flame were snuffed out immediately, the other half knocked prone. Judicael, however, remained standing. Her flame shone brightly and she threw a roiling fireball right at Sasha.

"Ahhhhh!" Sasha screamed as her body writhed. Martin wasn't quick enough to counterspell and she'd taken the full brunt of it. The burn along her side was an awful sight. Jon nearly choked on the smell of seared skin. He looked over at the fire genasi's delighted grin and he felt his fists clench. Then he felt the surge of anger pool in his hands until it no longer felt like nails digging into his skin but raw power gathering, waiting to be released.

"Stop!" Jon cried as the witchbolt flew from his hands, striking Judicael in the chest. She didn't stagger backwards because Jon didn't want that. He wanted her right where she stood as he poured more anger, more power into the spell. He felt the power surging through his body, felt his eyes burning as they locked with the fire genasi's. Her mind was unguarded as all of her energy was focused on the pain of the witchbolt. It was enough to let a facet of his mind, a sliver of thought, reach in and strike.

Judicael fell to her knees, clutching her head as she was overwhelmed with pain. He couldn't find it in him to show mercy as he intensified both attacks. Her shrieks and cries mixed with his own. He could taste her fear as sure as he could taste his own blood. Then he heard a panicked voice cut through it all.

"Jon! Stop!" Martin shouted.

"She'll kill us if I do!" Jon said.

"Please, Jon!" Martin cried. There was pain in his voice and Jon found his resolve failing. "Sasha needs us. You've stopped them. They're done."

He let go of the spells. The anger remained, but the grip was so tight he felt exhausted once the power dissipated. Judicael fell to the ground, her flame extinguished, though she was still breathing. Looking around, he realized the witchbolt had struck more than just Judicael. Those cultists who were knocked prone by Sasha's water wall were twitching in pain. Some of them weren't twitching at all. It was enough for that familiar panic to set in. He looked to Martin and saw the wariness in his eyes. That was all it took. That was how he ended up at the Annex. There was nowhere to go after this and he couldn't stand to see that expression on Martin's face. He stumbled back, eyes wide and aching for comfort, but as the revived temple guards rushed in to take over cleanup Jon vanished from sight. Martin combed the cramped space, making sure to keep Sasha steady in his arms as the clerics entered, but there was no sign of the drow.

Jon was gone.

***

After the clerics finished healing and the guards were hauling the still breathing members of the Lightless Cult and Divine Host to the stockade, Martin knocked on the door to Jon's quarters. It was the only place he could think to find him since his other favorite room in the Annex, the scriptorium, was partially flooded and teeming with temple guards. Jon didn't mind statement givers crowding the space, but he always looked nervous around the guards when they wandered into the Annex or had a question in need of answering. Londinium's military hadn't been kind to drow in the past and certain animosities and fears ran deep.

He heard a quiet, "Come in," and pushed the door open.

Jon was curled up against the wall, head buried in the paltry shield of his arms resting atop his knees. He looked up when he heard the creaking wood signal Martin's entrance. His hair hung in a loose braid with wisps of it haloing his face. His eyes were rough and red from crying and he looked at Martin with sorrow and regret.

"How - how's Sasha?" Jon asked, his voice hoarse from crying.

"She's okay," Martin said as he moved closer. "The burn was pretty bad, but they pumped a few healing spells into her and she'll be right as rain come morning. Tim's with her now, keeping guard while she sleeps. Not that she needs it, but Tim fancies her a bit more than he realizes."

There was a brief moment where Martin wasn't sure why he'd offered up so much of an explanation. Something about the way Jon asked the question, but it was hard to pin down. He put it out of his mind as he sat on the floor across from Jon.

"Are you okay, Jon?" he asked.

The shock on the drow's face would've been funny if Jon wasn't deadly serious. "How can you ask me that? I - I nearly killed...I did kill..."

"You were trying to protect us," Martin said. He placed his hand on Jon's folded arms, squeezing with the intent to comfort. Jon looked away.

"There was so much power, Martin," he whispered. "It felt like I was tapping into something that was me...but wasn't. I was so angry and - and scared, but I also wanted to watch her burn out."

"I've heard that...sometimes...sorcerers have trouble controlling their magic. Especially when they're feeling scared or angry. Kind of an emotional fight or flight instinct," Martin offered.

John sighed before turning back to look at Martin over his elbows. "I don't think I'm a sorcerer, Martin. I think there's something more to it but I can't piece it together."

"How so?"

"My dreams...they're becoming more vivid, but...also more disturbing," Jon said. "I've started seeing some of the statement givers...walking through their experiences as it plays out before me. I try to interact with them, help them if I can, but I'm stuck in place. I can only watch. And then - then I see a bead of light and all I want to do is follow it. I'm drawn to it and as I get closer and closer, I feel the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. I feel like someone's watching me as well. Then I reach the light and...it's not a light. It's an eye and I realize I'm surrounded by eyes boring into me. The statements spill from my mouth, all of their trauma and pain, but the eyes keep watching as I choke on terror and just when I think I'm going to drown...I wake up."

Martin sat there, speechless, for a long time. What was there to say? Most, if not all, of his healing spells were meant for physical wounds, but Jon's were rooted in pain that went beyond the physical. Martin inched closer, tenderly resting his chin on Jon's arm. He was being watched with guarded, but hopeful eyes. The tuft of hair on Martin's chin fell over the boundary of crossed arms and he stilled when he felt Jon curl the hair around his finger before letting it fall back, softly, against his skin.

"I don't know what you're going through, Jon," he said, gently, "but I'd like to help you in whatever way I can. If we need to do some research, then I think we're in the right place. All of Ioun's knowledge and the knowledge of countless others are at our fingertips."

"You'd...you'd help me?" Jon asked, bewildered and in awe of the offer.

Martin smiled. "Of course, Jon. You're my friend. That's what friends do for each other."

It was Jon's turn to be speechless. "I...I..."

"Oh, I've brought you something as well," Martin said. He pulled away from Jon, already missing the warmth of being so close. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a book bound in blue leather. He set it in front of Jon, his face burning with nervousness. "It's...my poetry."

"You - you actually brought--"

"I thought you might need a distraction after what happened today," Martin explained. "Perhaps you might - I don't know - get a laugh out of my ridiculous words."

Jon uncurled from his position, his fingers lightly tracing over the leather. He looked at Martin sternly. "I don't intend to laugh at your work, Martin. Unless you've written something meant to be funny. Only then will I laugh."

Martin nodded. "Of - of course. Thank you, Jon."

"Thank you for actually letting me read this," Jon said. "Will...will you stay a while? I don't really want to - to be alone."

"I...Yes, of course," Martin said. An idea popped in almost immediately. "I'll go make us some tea and bring it back, yeah? There might be a scone or two left in the common room. We'll have a proper conversation like they do in all of those books Sasha reads."

"That sounds lovely," Jon said. Martin was quick to exit and Jon couldn't help but notice the spring in his step. For an eight-foot cow-person he was exceptionally light on his feet. Once he was gone, Jon couldn't help himself. He opened the book of poems, searching through the lovely script for a poem that might give him a taste of Martin's bardic prowess.

He started on a poem called, 'Moonlight.'

***

Martin managed to bring Jon out to the Rusty Raven again when they heard the warning bell of the city guard. They watched as a group of children gathered around a contingent of guards. They were frantically taking, their faces panicked and full of fear. Jon was ready to return to their conversation when Martin abruptly left the table and walked out to the gathered circle of concerned citizens.

"Martin..." Jon called.

"Something's wrong," Martin said. "I know it sounds strange, but I...it's familiar to me. I know what to do."

"What...?"

Martin left the Rusty Raven and Jon watched him speak with the guards and the children. There was a lot of gesturing, some raised voices, and Jon saw Martin lean down to speak with two children in particular. One made his way into the Rusty Raven while the other started running away from the group with Martin following close after. The boy rushed into the tavern, finding Jon almost immediately. He seemed wary, but Jon let him catch his breath before questioning him.

"What's happening?"

"My - my friend - Evan. He got - he got lost in the - the Misty Hollow," said the boy. "Mr. - Mr. Martin's gone to get him. He said - he said you should go back - go back to the Annex."

"Like the nine hells I will!" Jon exclaimed. Grabbing his parasol, he scooted the boy out the door. "Show me the way!"

The boy, Mikail, led him outside the city walls towards the forest. He was about to ask the name of the forest when the information was suddenly in his mind: the Blackwood. This was where Martin used to live. His clan lived - no used to live - in these woods but...they weren't there anymore. The girl, Agnes, who'd acted as Martin's guide was waiting by the edge of a clearing Jon assumed was the Misty Hollow. The fog was so thick Jon could barely see the broad trees into the forest proper.

"He - he just ran in," Agnes said. She was shivering, though Jon could tell it wasn't from the cold. "He said to stay here. That he could help Evan."

"How long ago?" Jon asked, hurriedly.

"It's...only a few minutes, but..." she paused.

Jon tried for a gentler tone, "But what?"

"When we were in there...it felt like hours. Days," she said. She shivered again. "I tried to get Evan to move, but he wouldn't! He looked so sad and his - his eyes!"

"Look!" Mikail shouted. A figure became visible in the fog and it didn't take long to realize it was a child emerging from the forest. It must have been Evan due to how Agnes and Mikail excitedly latched on to the groggy-looking child. He seemed confused, but ultimately happy to see his friends. He gave Jon a questionable look, but the drow knelt in front of the child, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"What happened, Evan?" Jon asked.

"I...there was a - there was only fog," Evan started. "It spoke to me and I felt cold. I couldn't move, but then I didn't want to move. I wanted - I wanted to stay because I - I couldn't remember my friends or my family."

"Did you see a firbolg in the woods?" Jon asked.

"Yes! He spoke to the fog and then I could move again," Evan explained. "I didn't see him again. I wanted to go home, so I left. Can I go home?"

"Of course. Thank you, Evan. Thank you all of you," Jon said. "Go home. I'll find Martin."

The children didn't look especially confident in Jon's ability to retrieve anyone from the forest, but they were children and he didn't have time to worry about what they thought of him. He had to find Martin.

The chill of the forest came at him stronger than he could have predicted. Even in the subterranean caverns of the drow he never felt this cold and Jon found himself shivering involuntarily. The fog that never seemed to clear felt thick and heavy, like he was pushing through honey rather than mist. It clung to him and the further he moved into the forest, the harder it was to shake off the feeling that he was being dragged down by the weight of dew and vapor. 

" _A drow? In my forest?_ " came a voice that echoed all around him. The fog swirled between his legs and around his torso.

"I'm looking for a firbolg. His name is Martin," Jon said.

" _Hmm, yes, Martinaeus is here_ ," said the voice. " _He exchanged his life for the boy's, which was quite nice of him. I haven't seen him in such a long time._ "

"...His clan! You-you took them?" Jon asked.

" _Yes_."

"Why?"

" _I was lonely. They promised to stay with me._ "

"But not Martin?"

" _Martinaeus resisted me, but now he has returned._ "

Jon felt the information unexpectedly fill his mind. "But you're still lonely, aren't you?"

" _I'm always lonely_ ," the mist responded. " _Would you consider staying?_ "

"Will you let me see Martin?" Jon asked.

" _Why do you wish to see him_?" the fog asked.

"Because he's my friend and I - I care about him. I care about him a lot," Jon said. He felt a tug at his arms and legs, the fog's grip was tight and getting tighter until he could barely move. He felt it turning him around and as it continued to swirl and rush around him, it began to thin out until he saw him. Martin stood there, like Jon had just walked by and missed him in his search, which he was certain was exactly what happened. "Martin!"

There was no response. Martin stood there, his head slumped forward, his mane of sandy hair damp and limply hanging over his face. Though the strands of damp hair, Jon caught a glimpse of his eyes and he might have stepped back in shock if not for the fog keeping him in place. There was no color in them. Where once Jon would have seen a warm, homey brown there was nothing but white. They were empty and Jon felt the sting of tears at the thought of such kindness and warmth destroyed by such an insidious fog.

"Martin! Martin, it's me! It's Jon!" he shouted.

" _He can't hear you. He probably doesn't even remember you_ ," said the fog. " _He's just content to stay here, wasting away until the Raven Queen comes to collect_."

"Then why do this? Why take them in the first place if they're just going to die?" Jon cried.

" _Because I'm lonely_ ," the fog answered.

"I don't accept that!" Jon shouted.

" _Don't worry, in a few moments you'll accept it as if it always was and always will be. You'll stay and waste away right alongside him_ ," the fog said. There was no malice in the voice to latch on to. Whatever emotions existed in the fog were just as intangible as its body. If it had a body. Jon felt his mind grasp for answers, for something that could help him escape and bring Martin with him. The weight on his limbs gave no quarter and as the fog wrapped around his eyes, ears, and mouth, he felt the pull of sleep. The haze was comforting and he knew the space between consciousness and surrender was negligible. In another moment it was likely he'd forget his own name.

A thought pierced through the haze in his mind and he Knew. He Knew what to look for. He Knew what he was dealing with.

"Peadarloch," he whispered.

" _What?!_ " said the fog, the voice heightened and anxious.

"An elf who gave into the isolation of the forest instead of joining the burgeoning harmony of the peoples of the realm coming together. He thought the other elves would follow him, but no one came to join him. They left him alone and so he remained," Jon said as if reciting a passage from a scholar's tome. The fog pulled tighter around his throat. He gasped for air, but he could sense a presence that wasn't the fading image of Martin. His eyes automatically shifted to where Peaderloch stood and the entity shook, unaccustomed to being seen.

Jon smiled. "I see you."

The fog thinned and he could feel the coils around his throat, arms, and legs lose their grip. He took in a deep breath, but he didn't take his eyes off the stunned silhouette.

"I see you, Peadarloch! I See you and I Know your true name. Either let us go or suffer the wrath of my power!" Jon declared. That same surge of power he'd felt while facing the Lightless Flame hummed throughout his body. The fog reeled away in response, afraid of the greenish electricity crackling in his hands. His eyes burned and suddenly the fog disappeared wherever his gaze fell. Peadarloch flinched when he felt Jon's eyes upon him. He looked similar to Elias - a high elf with elegant, but sharp, features and an expression of superiority that automatically made Jon's lip curl in anger. He wore billowy robes of grey silk and his black hair wafted around his head like a halo of drifting shadow.

" _No! How did you...? You shouldn't--_ "

"I see you and I banish you!" Jon shouted. To the nine hells with being magnanimous. He wasn't going to let Martin stay in the fog any longer. Grasping the edge of his anger and the pulse of power, Jon released the force of his magic on Peadarloch. The elf cried out in pain, but unlike Judicael his cries died out quickly as his body disintegrated in a flash of light and gust of fearsome wind. 

The elf was gone and the fog that had already begun to thin vanished entirely.

Jon fell to his knees, exhausted and weak. He took a moment to gather himself again, breathing slow and deep. He was startled by a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Martin staring down at him. His eyes were no longer blanketed in white. They'd returned to the rich, comforting brown though they were wet with unshed tears.

"Jon," he said in a choked whisper. Falling to his knees next to the drow, Martin wrapped his arms around him and somehow managed to nestle his head in the crook of Jon's neck, sobbing openly. Jon instinctively held the firbolg close. As weak as he felt, Jon put all of his strength into keeping Martin secure in his arms. "You - you came for me..."

"Please don't leave me again," Jon whispered, his eyes blurred with tears of his own. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Martin."

"I'm sorry," Martin said. "I'm sorry."

"This is where you're from, right? The Blackwood?" Jon asked. "This is why your clan no longer needs you?"

Martin reluctantly pulled back so he could look Jon in the eyes. He nodded, sniffling quietly. "They'd been hit by a nasty illness that spread quickly. I was tending to my mother when the fog rolled in. They fell to its sway one by one. I managed to get away, but I couldn't save them. I wandered into the city, looking for help but...it was too late. They were just...gone."

"I'm sorry," Jon said. "You've lost so much..."

Martin smiled. "Yes...but I've gained a lot as well."

When they eventually returned to the Annex, Jon was reluctant to let Martin out of his sight. They both made excuses that left them dithering in the common area or updating Sasha on what occurred in the forest, but when the evening came to a close they finally let go of each others hands and fell into restless slumber.

***

He felt a burst of panic that shocked him awake. He heard the scuffle shortly after and a loud cry that was clearly Jon. Martin was up and out the door almost immediately. He was just in time to see Mellony Kingsbane leading a female drow out of Jon's quarters. The half-orc hunter gave a brief nod to Martin as she shoved the drow forward. The drow's hands were bound with magic shackles and she sneered at the rough treatment, but she seemed to catch something on Martin's face as she passed. Her movements were graceful and quick as she jumped, flung her bound hands around Martin's neck and raised her much shorter body up to his ear.

"Help him," she whispered. Mellony clocked her in back of the head, knocking the drow out.

"Caught her scouting the Annex the other night," Mellony said as she picked up the unconscious body. She broke into Jon's room. Wasn't sure what she wanted, but I didn't want to give her time to do anything funny."

"Good - good work, I guess," Martin said as he inched closer to Jon's quarters. "I'm gonna go...check on Jon."

Mellony winked at him. "Go on then."

He turned into Jon's room and found the drow sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, hair spilling over his shoulders. He looked up when he sensed another presence in the room and visibly relaxed when he saw Martin.

"Are you okay?" Martin asked as he sat next to him on the bed.

Jon shook his head. He made several attempts to speak, but the words were difficult to form. Finally, he sighed in frustration, roughly rubbing his hands over his face. "I - I don't know...she didn't...She wasn't trying to hurt me."

"What did she do?" Martin asked.

"We - we know each other," Jon said.

"Really?"

"Her name is Jorjita Barkerri. We were - we are - friends," Jon said. "But she - she said something that I don't understand."

Martin placed a hand over his, which Jon took gratefully.

"What did she say?" he asked.

"She - she said she'd been looking for me for months. She said - she asked why I left home, why I left the Underdark," he said. "It was like - like she didn't remember that I'd-I'd killed so many because of my-my magic!"

"Jon..."

"It doesn't make any sense! I have...memories. They're so clear, so vivid..."

"But..."

"But...Jorji has no reason to lie to me. She's a monk, she's part of an honorable order among our people!" Jon said. "Why is my memory so clear about this specific moment and she has no--? She looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about!"

Martin squeezed Jon hand to try to offer comfort, but he felt just as lost as Jon looked. This was beyond him, beyond anyone in the Annex he could think of. That just left the temple. "Maybe Elias would know?"

"Do-do you think?" Jon asked.

"He's the Arch Cleric and this - this seems like something an Arch Cleric should be able to solve," Martin said. Jon gripped back fiercely, glad to at least have a plan of action.

"Will you come with me?" Jon asked.

"Of course!"

The door to Elias's office was already open when they arrived, like he'd been expecting someone to come to his office in the middle of the night. The high elf was dressed in his most resplendent robes, though they weren't the usual blue and silver associated with the Knowing Mistress. These robes were green and black with purple stitching and there was no sign of the temple's holy symbol on his person. There was a nervous energy in the room when Martin and Jon sat in front of his desk and Martin knew it wasn't just coming from him and Jon. Elias's energy, however, was one of absolute excitement, which Martin couldn't place within the context of what had been happening with the temple and the Annex in the last few months.

"And you're concerned about what your brethren said about your exodus from the Underdark?" Elias asked over his tented fingers.

"I doesn't make any sense," Jon said. "Why wouldn't she remember what I did?"

"Well, Jon, I suppose you'll have to make a choice about which reality you want to believe," Elias said.

Jon stared at him in confusion. "I don't understand."

"It's quite simple, really. Do you believe that you killed a number of your people because you, a studious, but somewhat vain, youth could lose control so easily? Or do you believe that your memory was altered in order to ensure your lodging within the Annex?" Elias posited.

Martin looked at the cleric with equal amounts of confusion. "Elias...that's..."

"Those can't be the only options," Jon said.

Elias shrugged. "As unfortunate as it sounds, Jon, I'm afraid those are the only scenarios possible."

"Why?"

"Because I had to get you here," Elias said, "and it was easier to play into your fears and insecurities to get you right where I wanted you."

The energy in the room changed again as the door slammed shut by the hand of an invisible force. Martin's first instinct was to go invisible, but he had Jon to think about. His hand automatically reached over as he prepared to dimension door them out of the room. Elias noticed the incantation he was preparing and, with a flick of his wrist, dispelled it.

"Now, now, Martin, running away is out of the question," Elias said. "We've just gotten to the good part."

Jon looked frantic, unable to process what he was hearing. "What...? Why did you...? Why would you do this to me?"

"Because the Beholder sent me a vision. He showed me flashes of stories, horrific images set to parchment and fed to a grand tome of knowledge. Then he showed me the grand door, the tome, a key, and the face of a young drow who would release him on the surface world," Elias said. His eyes were full of unmitigated devotion. He extended his hand to Jon. "He showed me you, Jonquil."

"The Beholder?" Martin asked. He'd rarely heard the term, but there was something familiar in the name.

"A being of the Underdark. He Sees All, Knows All, and the world will tremble before His horrific visage! His many eyes are destined to capture the world and bend it to his will!" Elias looked to Jon with such adoration it made Martin's skin crawl. "You've served him so well, Jon. You've done _perfectly_."

There was a charge of power and Elias's voice echoed ever so slightly. Martin felt the change in Jon immediately. His grip slackened, falling away so his arms hung limply at his side. He didn't want to take his eyes off Elias, but Martin needed to check that Jon was okay. He was met with a face devoid of emotion and eyes that stared ahead, but held no life or the usual fervor that defined Jon's features. Martin cupped Jon face, trying to get him to lock eyes. "Jon? Jon, what's wrong? Look at me, please!"

"It's time, Jonquil," Elias said. "Come along. There's work to do."

Jon stood, his body relaxed and pliant. He resisted Martin's pull, walking towards Elias without protest.

"What've you done to him?" Martin shouted. "Where are you taking him?"

"I'm leading him to his destiny," Elias said. "Jonquil, would you please dispose of Martin?"

"No! Jon! Please, hear me!" Martin cried. "Listen to me, Jon! Don't do this!"

Jon didn't hear him. He stared at Martin with empty eyes as he raised his hand, his fingers sparking with bright green energy. Through a teary gaze, Martin saw Elias's delighted smile as Jon released a blast of eldritch energy.

And then everything went dark.

***

He woke up with a gasp of air and Bassara's face hovering over him, her eyes bright with divine radiance.

"Martin? You with me?" she asked.

"Jon! Elias! Something's wrong!" Martin shouted between breaths. Bassara helped him to his feet, but kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him when he swayed. Once he gained his bearings he could hear the sounds of battle. "What - what's going on?"

"A bunch of the temple guards started attacking everyone. There's something wrong with their eyes," she said. "Daisy, Tim, and Mellony are defending the Annex. I came up here to see confront whatever might've turned them and I found you. You were almost dead."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Martin said tiredly as he rubbed the burn where Jon's magic had struck. "Elias did this. At the very least he's charmed the guards. Knocking them out should break the spell."

She nodded. "You said Jon's involved?"

"Yes, but not the way you think. Elias was talking about the - the Beholder, a 'god' of the Underdark, maybe?" Martin explained. "He said he'd received a vision and Jon was somehow the key to it. He-he altered Jon's memories, got him here, and now..."

"Do you know where they went?" she asked.

"No, but I can find them. I can find Jon at the very least," he said. He felt a wave of energy pass through him again, more healing magic from the paladin. "Be safe, Bassara."

"You too," she said. "I have a feeling things are going to get worse before they get better."

"Sounds like a typical Thursday," Martin joked.

She chuckled as she rushed out the door and, for a brief moment, Martin thought he saw a flash of radiant ethereal wings before disappearing from sight. He took a moment to breathe, taking stock of his body and mind. There wasn't time to find any armor or a weapon. He'd have to go for being as stealthy as an eight-foot cow-person could be in these situations. He closed his eyes and focused on the spell forming on his lips. He focused on Jon and finding him. He focused on Jon - just Jon.

His heart, which had barely calmed down from being healed, began to beat faster and faster until he felt a bead of energy tugging at his chest and forehead. He knew, without any doubt, that if he followed the pull it would lead him to Jon.

Curiously, the tugging was indicating that Jon was below him and whatever additional senses he possessed told him that Elias had a secret passage in his office. It seemed like the type of thing he'd have when he didn't want to be noticed while doing his evil work. Looking towards the large tapestry hanging behind the desk, Martin pulled it from the wall, revealing a wooden door displaying what looked like an elf haloed by many eyes. He didn't think about it for too long before using his natural bulk to smash through the door, running down the obviously spooky staircase as the pull on his chest became stronger and stronger the further down he went.

He turned himself invisible when he reached the bottom of the stairs. The tug felt like someone was holding his heart in a vice. Dropping the spell, Martin moved across the stone floor and found himself on a roughly hewn balcony overlooking a large cavern illuminated by what looked like hundreds of floating candles. At the far wall was the barest outline of a wide door and a lock upon the door that looked ancient and menacing. Elias stood to the side of the wall, but his appearance had changed to that of a drow and Martin's anger towards him flared even brighter. Seated in front of the door was Jon.

Moving to get a better angle, Martin could see the blank stare in his eyes remained. He was working purposefully over his spellbook, but instead of writing there was a green smoke spilling from Jon's mouth into the book. He remembered Jon telling him about his dreams, about the statements expelled from his mouth while being surrounded by eyes. Elias had been controlling and manipulating Jon the entire time and Martin wanted nothing more than to disintegrate him where the evil drow stood. Maybe after this was all over, or maybe if the rules of combat allowed, he could act on that impulse but right now he needed to release Jon from Elias's thrall.

From his vantage point, he wasn't sure if dispelling the charm would take. He'd have to get closer, but in doing so he'd expose himself. Once he cast the spell his invisibility would drop. There was no thought to put into it, freeing Jon was more important. There was a staircase that led down to the cavern. Carefully, without making a sound by some miracle, he descended the stairs and found a position close enough to Jon that also gave him some cover for when Elias inevitably retaliated.

Jon continued to pour green smoke into the spellbook and Martin could now see the script writing itself onto the pages. Some words flashed intermittently, but Martin couldn't discern why. No doubt for whatever malicious purposes Elias and his Beholder had upon the creature's release. He could also hear a quiet rumble of laughter beyond the door. It was disturbing to listen to and he was certain he'd hear it in his dreams long after this encounter.

Suddenly, the smoke stopped falling from Jon's mouth. Mechanically, he closed the spellbook, awaiting further instructions. The same green smoke seeped from the pages as if the artifact was filled to the brim with whatever power and magic Jon had been storing within it for an entire year.

"Excellent, Jonquil," Elias said. "Now, place the key into the lock and release our master!"

Jon said nothing. He began to move, taking the book. It pulsed with horrific power and Martin didn't want to be on the wrong side of an open door into a realm beyond the Underdark. He quickly finished the incantation and wrapped it around Jon's mind. He could feel the barrier around Jon just as the invisibility dropped. He pulled and scraped at the barrier, tearing it down as Elias shouted in genuine surprise. Jon gasped as the thrall extinguished, his hand holding the book inches away from the lock.

" _Release me!_ " called a malevolent voice. The cavern shook as something pounded on the other side of the door.

Jon staggered, falling backwards from the door. He fell to the ground, still grasping the spellbook. To his left he could see Elias shouting with violent fury. To his right, however, he saw a face he was certain he'd never see gain. Smiling widely, tears in his eyes he whispered, "Martin!"

"Jon! It's the book," Martin responded. "The book opens the door!"

He felt something pulling at the book and saw a spectral hand extending from Elias trying to drag it from his grip. Jon had never considered himself a strong person, but he pulled with all his might, clutching the book to his chest in defiance. Frustrated and enraged, Elias fired a bolt of energy at Martin that hit. It was a quick reminder that he wasn't operating at full capacity, but Martin was able to teeter forward and throw a shield over Jon. Elias stopped, but he didn't look defeated.

" _Put the book in the lock, Jonquil. Release our god_ _!_ " Elias ordered, his words dripping with the same echo of compulsion from before. Jon froze, his body ridged as the spell tried to take hold of him again. Then he relaxed, but Jon wasn't under Elias's control again. He was in control of himself and he smiled defiantly at Elias as a sword of pure shadow appeared in his hand.

"I've a better idea, Heliodore. Why don't you join your god and go to the nine hells!" Jon shouted. He plunged the sword of shadows into the spellbook and the cavern exploded with the furious roar of power. All of the candles in the cavern were extinguished and both Martin and Elias were thrown back by the potent aftershock. The murderous drow was knocked out by the force of the blow, but Martin managed to brace himself well enough to keep from passing out. He could see well enough in the dark, but it was a skill rendered moot when the cavern filled with the soft glow of green light radiating from Jon's collapsed body.

"Jon!" Martin shouted. He half ran, half crawled over to Jon, taking in the state of his...of his friend. The spellbook was gone and Jon was unconscious, but he was covered with a strange, green crystalline shell that adhered to his body. "Jon...?"

He reached for the drow and felt the shock of electricity strike his fingers.

The laughter from beyond the door increased. " _There's so little of him left. A shame that he acted so drastically. I might have amended our pact. Now...now he'll slip away. His life is forfeit. Unless..._ "

"Un-unless what?" Martin asked, turning towards the door.

" _Unless you could save him. Make a deal. A new pact to override the old one._ "

Martin frowned, snorting in anger, "I know how to heal. I don't need your help to save him."

The laughter increased, louder and more menacing. " _What will you do, bard? Convince him to return with delicate prose? Serenade him into consciousness? Do you think your sonnets and sestinas and ballads can sever the arcane power that binds he and I? What could you possibly accomplish without my help?_ "

Martin turned back to Jon. The light was already dimming as more of his life's energy faded. He could barely see the rise and fall of his chest as he took in short, sharp gasps of air. If he didn't act quickly, then he was going to lose him. "I don't need poems and pageantry to save Jon. I just need a word."

" _What?_ " said the Beholder.

Martin gathered Jon in his arms, fighting against the intense current coursing through his body. He knew there were words of power capable of stunning, killing, and inflicting pain on others, but there were also words of power with the ability to heal and restore. He wasn't as advanced in his magic, but he understood the mechanics of spellcraft enough to know that sometimes, on very rare occasions, a magic wielder's emotions were enough to channel the right spell at the right time. He had no loyalties to any particular god, though he hoped Ioun showed him some favor in his task. No, the only loyalty he had was to Jon and he let that loyalty and that love flow through him as more and more energy filled him with radiance and the strength to see it through. He leaned over Jon's prone form and whispered in his ear...

"Come back to me, my _moonlight_."

He kissed Jon and the cavern exploded in light.

***

It wasn't as easy as planting a kiss and restoring Jon entirely. There were a span of days where he was barely conscious, floating between dreams and waking that left him exhausted and confused. When things were sorted with Elias's betrayal and the unfortunate deaths of several members of the temple and Annex, Bassara was able to spend time with Jon to determine what was preventing him from resurfacing to the waking world. After pumping several healing and restoration spells into him, she was finally able to say that the last remnants of his unwilling pact with the Beholder were gone. It seemed as though the many-eyed entity had just as many tethers piercing Jon's soul. It was likely a contingency of punishment and slow-acting corruption in case the initial plans went awry. Luckily, Bassara caught it before the corruption could take root.

Jon stayed in the temple's medical ward for several weeks following the failed ritual to release the Beholder. The drow hadn't been the most hale and hearty to begin with, but he needed time to recover and Martin was more than happy to spend his free time sitting by Jon's side. Sometimes he brought tea the way Jon liked it. Other times he brought books and read to him. On several visits he ran into the female drow the Annex had imprisoned and freed on the same night. Jorji was kind and pleasant despite her deadly monk skills and she assured Jon that he would be welcomed home with open arms if that was where he chose to be. Martin was encouraging of him choosing what felt right after everything he'd been through, but the firbolg held on to the selfish desire for Jon to stay at the Annex...to stay with him.

Jon said very little during his convalescence. He wasn't rude or brusque with the clerics, just quiet and still. He stared out the window mostly, watching the snow fall as winter returned to lands near and far. He didn't appear to mind Martin's frequent visits, but he also seemed sad and despondent the longer he stayed. They hadn't really talked about that night. They hadn't talked about what was left of Jon's abilities. They'd barely exchanged two words in weeks.

Martin was done with the silence on the third week. He'd tried to keep his spirits high, but he couldn't handle one more sorrowful glance from Jon when he thought Martin wasn't looking. He stopped reading from the book of Atlantean history he'd snagged from Sasha and reached for Jon's chin, gently turning him so they could look at each other.

"Jon...please...tell me what's wrong," Martin said.

Jon wrenched his face away, eyes brimming with tears almost immediately. "How can you stand to be in the same room as me?!"

"What?"

"I - I'm a monster, Martin. I-I made a pact with an entity even _my_ people find abhorrent! I deceived you and the rest of the Annex! I recorded the words of others and twisted them for the consumption of a wicked creature. I allowed myself to be controlled by Elias and...and I killed you, Martin. I - I killed you without hesitation because he told me to!" Jon cried. His tears were almost as bright and silvery as his hair. Martin reach out again, tenderly stroking Jon's cheek. He leaned into the touch instinctively.

"None of that was you, Jon. I know it, deep down in my gut, that everything you just described is not the drow I've gotten to know this last year," Martin said. "The only monsters are Elias and the actual monster that was apparently sealed off beneath the temple long before the Pax Divinus. You couldn't have known because they didn't want you to know."

Jon's breaths were still quick and wet as he struggled to heed Martin's words. When he looked at Martin with such devastated eyes, the firbolg fought every instinct to gather him in his arms once again. "But I still killed you, Martin. I can see it so vividly in my mind. I hear you calling out to me, pleading with me to listen. I watch the blast of magic strike you and I can't escape the sound of your body collapsing to the ground. You didn't move. I don't know if you were breathing, but all I could think was that I killed the one person who made me feel safe and wanted. I allowed myself a moment to love someone and I killed them."

"Wait...you what?" Martin asked.

Jon froze, a pained gasp escaping as he realized what he'd said. When he finally met Martin's eyes he found a dopey, lopsided grin greeting him. "I..."

"You love me?" Martin asked.

Jon took a deep breath and nodded.

"You...you love me," Martin said in an awed whisper. "You. Love. Me."

"Martin..."

"Jon, don't you understand? You're - you're--"

He struggled to find the words, which, as a bard, was terribly embarrassing. Jon curled into himself as the struggle continued, readying himself for the blow he believed was inevitable.

Finally, Martin exclaimed, "You're my moonlight!"

Jon stared at him. "What?"

"Jon...I've been in love with you for...well, for a while," Martin confessed. "I think it really solidified after you walked into a sentient fog and saved me, but...yeah. I - I love you, Jon, and I want you to stay here...with me. Not here in the temple, though. In the Annex."

Even through the tears, Jon managed to laugh. "Yes, I figured."

Martin took his hands, cradling them like precious gems before lifting them both to his lips for a brief, but momentous kiss. Jon didn't pull away. "I know you've been involved in some terrible things, but none of it was of your own volition. No one blames you, Jon. **I** don't blame you. If you stay, I promise you I'll spend every day until the End of Days making sure you understand how much kindness you're entitled to and how much love you deserve."

Jon sniffled, pulling a hand away briefly to wipe away his tears. He leaned in closer to Martin. "How can I resist such charismatic words?"

Martin chuckled. He leaned in further, closing the gap. "Part of my bardic charm, I suppose. Charisma for days."

"Well then..."

The kiss was slow, tentative. It was small and yet it contained multitudes and only after they'd parted in order to breathe did they notice the string of flowers curling around Jon's hand as new buds opened one by one.

"Huh..." Martin said with all of the bardic prowess the College of Eloquence could afford him.

"Well...maybe I really was a druid all along," Jon said. His eyes were bright with hope and love and Martin couldn't help himself.

It was technically their third kiss, but so many more were destined to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, and in case you were wondering what everyone's Race/Class were:
> 
> Jon --> Drow/Warlock, Great Old One/Pact of the Tome  
> Martin --> Firbolg/Bard, College of Eloquence  
> Elias --> "High Elf" Drow/Cleric, Knowledge Domain  
> Sasha --> Changeling/Wizard, School of Onomancy  
> Tim --> Earth Genasi/Fighter, Monster Hunter/Tunnel Fighter  
> Daisy --> Wolfborn/Rogue/Barbarian, Assassin/Path of the Berserker  
> Basira --> Aasimar/Paladin, Protection/Oath of the Ancients  
> Melanie --> Half-Orc/Ranger, Hunter Conclave/Archery  
> Georgie --> Drow/Monk, Way of the Long Death


End file.
